


A Spoonful of Sugar (helps the medicine go down)

by Star_less



Series: the 'snips, snails, puppy-dog tails' verse [4]
Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Avenger Peter Parker, Canon Divergent, Complete, Cross-Posted on deviantArt, Desperation, Domestic Avengers, Fever, Fluff, Gen, Infantilism, Iron Dad & Spidey Son, Irondad, Long Shot, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Not Canon Compliant, Omorashi, One Shot, One of My Favorites, Pants wetting, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter does not like taking medication, Peter is WHINY, Peter is an Avenger, Post-Avengers (2012), Sick Character, Sick Peter Parker, Sickfic, Slice of Life, Superfamily (Marvel), Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Vomiting, spideyson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-23 06:26:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18148289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_less/pseuds/Star_less
Summary: Peter whined, the kind of whine that only a child could perfect, the kind that pierced Tony's ears. "More?""Yes, more." Tony said wearily, looking at the nibbled chocolate bar Peter had left on the couch. "JARVIS, put in a same-day bulk order for Cadbury's Dairy Milk, please.""Running a chocolate factory, Mr. Wonka, sir?" JARVIS inquired dryly. Tony didn't even justify the A.I. with a response, sighing.No… he just had a feeling he was going to need a lot more chocolate.Peter is sick after returning from a mission and is rather whiny. Tony learns how to take care of him, with some encouragement from the rest of the team.





	A Spoonful of Sugar (helps the medicine go down)

**Author's Note:**

> READ THE TAGS. T for swears.  
> This story contains vomiting and sickness in general - if that triggers you, this isn't the story for you to read. I found it hard to write myself, but I'm a sucker for sickfics so I pulled through. :D If you saw my other Spidey/Avengers fic, this is another chapter that I pulled from my 'big fic' to upload by itself. This is honestly my favourite chapter out of all of them. That's why it seems as though there's content missing - the bit about the helicarrier, for e.g. 
> 
> Also, this story doesn't have strict full-on infantilism. I put it in the tags because I tend to write Peter a tad younger than he actually is in canon. Sorry.
> 
> Also also, this story has omorashi, which is pee/pants wetting. Click back if that isn't your thing. 
> 
> Also also also, this is some sort of weird frankencanon where I just take people from their respective movies and stitch them back together again. whats infinity war??????????? its still 2012??????
> 
> Otherwise, enjoy :P

Opening his eyes slowly to let in the thinnest burst of sunlight, Peter whimpered to himself. His head was pounding like crazy, and his eyes felt heavy and hot as if it was too much energy to even move them. He shifted the tiniest amount. Wh… where was he?  
Looking around fully, through blurry eyes, made him realise he wasn’t in his bed at the tower by himself - he was still in the Helicarrier… with a blanket pulled over him. That meant… that meant Mr. Stark was close by. Right..?  
Peter… really hoped he was, anyway. When he was sick, there was nothing Peter wanted more than a cuddle - something which hadn’t changed from when he was young.  
Don’t be such a baby, Parker… Peter scolded himself, whimpering as he shifted in the blankets. Mr. Stark is probably way too busy to come and see you.  
He closed his eyes again, drifting in and out of sleep. Finally having enough, Peter whimpered and spoke up. “M- Mr... Stark?” He croaked, wincing. His throat hurt to talk. 

Mr. Stark stepped into the room with a concerned smile on his face. “Hello, Peter.” he said softly. “What’s up?”“I’m sick,” Peter sniffled pathetically, burrowing into the blankets. Way to state the obvious, Parker… he thought to himself — but it was true. He looked at Tony with large, owlish eyes, snivelling. “Take it ‘way. Please… you can do anything, just make me feel better.” The young boy pleaded, tears pearling in the corners of his eyes.

Stark chuckled to himself, reading a monitor close to Peter’s bed. Was the child really this overdramatic?  
He touched Peter’s forehead, wincing sympathetically at him. “Yeah, no shit kiddo. JARVIS is telling me you’ve got a bit of a fever, is all. Look.” He soothed, pulling the monitor close and showing the kid a bleeping display with his temperature and symptoms on it. “You can just rest here. We’ll all be downstairs if you need us.”

 _…Downstairs? But… but he thought…_ “Whadabout the mission?” Peter asked. Last he remembered, he was in the helicarrier after a mission… and that was where he’d woken up, right?  
He frowned, puzzled, at Stark. Stark shook his head. “No. You got sick on the helicarrier on the way back. That was last night.” Tony explained gently. 

Ohhhh... Peter nodded and relaxed a little — for a fraction of a second anyway. Then, remembering something, he sat up stiffly, shocked. “The.. the.. bed… in the Helicarrier.” He whimpered, horrified. _That meant… he had wet the bed in the Helicarrier…_  
His eyes started to well up unhappily until Tony started to ‘shhhshshhh’ at him. It was this tiny motion that confirmed for Peter that, well, Tony Stark must be magic — it was that at that exact moment he felt his eyelids grow heavy, near hypnotised.  
“It’s no big deal.” Tony told the sickly teen. “You’re sick. All sorts happen when you get sick. I can get it cleaned easy.” He shrugged, as though they were talking about something as simple as washing clothes, not an entire vehicle. Peter hesitated but didn’t respond, watching the man from the fringes of his blanket. He shifted, his gaze following Tony’s as Tony watched the readings appear on a nearby monitor. Satisfied, the genius pulled away. “You seem fine. Do you need anything?” 

Peter wondered whether to ask for a hug, or maybe to warn Tony about that other little issue that happened when he was sick. It was nothing major — just that his usually-nighttime accidents started to become more like daytime-accidents when he was sick, as though his bladder went on strike the second his body came in contact with a single germ cell. “No, nothing…” he decided, squirming slightly in the sheets as just thinking about needing to pee seemed to encourage some tickles in his bladder. “M’ gonna get some sleep.” He murmured, words melting into one another as he closed his eyes, looking at Tony through just his lashes.  
“Sounds good to me, kiddo,” Tony said as he leaned over him. Peter couldn’t help the feeling of happiness that began to well in his tummy… perhaps he was finally getting that hug he really wanted?  
Peter braced himself, a smile seeping onto his face — but nothing came. Frowning, he cracked an eye open to see… Stark… closing the curtains behind him and shutting off the creeping rays of sunlight from the room.  
Peter’s heart sunk.  
“Night-night, Mr. Stark.” He murmured, hoping the sadness that spilled into his voice was muffled by the duvet. “I’ll call you if I need you.”

Peter slept for the rest of the afternoon in his little sick bay, uninterrupted by the rest of the Avengers who continued to work and chatter above him. He only awoke when the pressure in his bladder had grown too unbearable to sleep through, sending lightning bolts of pain through his abdomen. With a hiss pulling itself through Peter's teeth the teenager exploded into a wakened state, body rigid and ramrod straight; something that his bladder thanked him endlessly for, but his stomach did not. No sooner had the teenager yanked himself from his horizontal position then the room had begun to rapidly spin and multiply before his eyes. "Mr. Stark?" Peter whimpered with a voice choked by fear — or that's what he thought, as all that came out was a pitiful whimper and a gurgle as his mouth grew wet and sour petals started blooming in his cheeks. In an instant, Peter knew what it was. 

Bathroom.  
Now!

Swinging himself out of bed and to the bathroom seemed, in theory, to be a good idea... until Peter actually did so. Properly upright, the room continued to taunt him, spinning faster than the teacup ride at the fairground; the floor seemed to be made of marshmallow, so that he bounced and lost his footing, and the sensation in his mouth was growing sourer by the second. The teenager weakly made his way out of his sick bay and, in the hallway, tried to lift his heavy head to look around. 

"Young sir, are you quite alright?" the concerned, prim voice of Tony's A.I. rang in Peter's ears making his head pound harder than it had before; and yet it seemed to echo there in his brain, long after the A.I. had finished speaking.  
"Yeah.." Peter fought around the bile rising in his mouth to speak, spluttering a little — only for the sputtering to turn into a gag. His toes tightened into the floor. _No… not here… he had to get to the bathroom…!_  
Sadly, his stomach had other ideas; namely, that Stark's floor seemed fine enough. Doubling over as the hot rising sensation filled his tummy, then his cheeks, Peter began to cough, then gag — having to shamefully squeeze his eyes shut as his belly contracted and he was forced to empty the contents of his stomach there and then. Somewhere along the way — as his stomach ached and his throat burned with acrid acid, Peter started to cry piteously. May had always helped him when he was sick, too, especially when his stomach was acting up like it was. She would always be there to rub his back, to help him drink (and clean up) afterwards, to say a comforting word. Oh, how Peter wished May was here right now.  
But... but she was gone, she was gone and this was Stark's floor and, oh, he was going to have to clean up by himself... the tears came down his red cheeks in sheets but Peter was distracted as, having just straightened up, he had to throw himself forwards as he gagged a second time.  
Nothing came up, thankfully, although a weird thorny prickle crept up his spine and his bladder contracted, sending a little hot pearl of pee shooting down one leg.  
_Pee..?_  
Oh, oh no!  
Caught up in the stress of sicking up over himself, Peter had all but forgotten that he was beyond due a visit to the bathroom. Now... now he was going to pee all over himself too, and- and Mr. Stark would be angry, a- and he would have to clean up all over again...  
A sob rose from his throat as he stood there, frozen to the spot — not knowing where to begin. Everything was so... so _overwhelming_. And so Peter simply stood there; stood there covered in tears and snot and his own sick-up, bawling like a small child while hoping and praying with all of his might that someone - Tony, Steve, May - anyone came to help him out... even if he hadn't asked anyone to come and rescue him and —

and then Mr. Stark appeared — stepping out of the elevator, face a picture of concern, brows knitted together... nose just barely crinkling at the sour sting of vomit that hit him.  
"Oh, Peter..." he grimaced. JARVIS had told him (clearly a little bit too late) that Peter was in distress. He had no idea that it was this bad, otherwise he would've appeared much, much sooner. Shit. He shoulda kept an eye on the kid. "Look at you... look at this mess." Tony's voice was slow and sympathetic as he edged his way around the puddle Peter had created to get to the sobbing child. 

"Mr. S- Stark!" Peter managed to say through his cries, quickly balling his hands into fists and rubbing his eyes in an attempt to stop himself from crying. "I-! I'm s-so sorry about the floor.. I- I'll clean up, I swear, I-" the kid babbled before yet another brutal gag cut him off — still, nothing more emerged from his stomach. Tony flinched back immediately as Peter gagged, but leaned in once he was sure the gagging had died. "Peter. Peter - I don't care about my floors," he insisted firmly, giving his shoulder a light squeeze as Peter looked up, the tears still dripping down his cheeks. "-I care about you." He closed his eyes for a moment, still kicking himself. He should've been watching Peter - anything could've happened to him. He swallowed thickly to compose himself and opened his eyes as Peter whimpered again. "Are you ready to get cleaned up?"

Peter hesitated now, squeezing the front of his pajamas as he danced foot to foot. "Mr. Stark, I- I kinda..." he stuttered, but was forced into silence as Mr Stark actually grabbed his hand and started leading him toward the closest bathroom. _Okay... okay, the bathroom was just there… he could... he could make it if it was just…_ another thin dribble seeped out and ran down his legs, then another — _no, no no... not here…_ Peter yanked his hand free from Stark's in an attempt to hold back the impending flood, but he was juuuuuust a bit too slow. The thin dribbles escaped out past his hold and quickly grew into a full stream, a large wet spot beginning to develop over his pajama pants. Shortly after that did Peter's pee start hissing as the warm liquid streamed out over his toes and soaked into the carpet. Peter, who had just about got control of his emotions, all but crumbled, letting out another snivelly sob. Oh no... oh no, now he really was peeing all over himself, and- and Mr. Stark was right there, seeing everything!  
...though, had Peter looked up, rather than at his toes, he would have realised that Stark wasn't entirely interested. He had looked over in concern once Peter had pulled away and started to cry, but — full of sympathy for the child — had stepped away to give him privacy. And continue to kick himself for not keeping a watchful eye, like all parents should.

"Poor kid. Been through the wringer today..." he murmured softly, straying away from the teenager for a different room. Sensing Stark shifting away from him, Peter's crying only increased. Yes it was childish but — he had finished peeing — all over Stark's floor — and he had sicked, and now he was wet, and smelly, and his pajamas clung to his legs and Mr. Stark didn't want to help out after all. "Mr. S- Stark I'm so so sorry!" he blubbed, "Don't leave me!"

Stark returned from his little excursion with a pair of Peter's pyjamas and a towel in hand, humming in confusion. "I wasn't leaving you, kiddo, I was bringing you these. I can't let you go back to bed like that, Steve would kick my ass." He joked, heading into the bathroom and leading the child behind him to clear up. As they headed inside, it was hard not to notice the glare of utter shame Peter gave to his mess on the floor, but Tony shook his head as he drew the young teenager a bath… "Don't worry, kiddo, that floor's seen worse bodily fluids," he murmured with a whistle. 

(Kiddo didn't get it. Thank God.)

Peter was too sick for Tony to trust him to bathe alone, so Tony had to aid him. As awkward as the situation seemed in theory, the reality was much different. Peter either was too sick to care, or genuinely didn't, as he easily slid into the bubbles. Tony was careful as he washed the child, trying to keep the bath as short as possible… though judging by the way Peter seemed to relax under Tony's idle scrubbing, he didn't seem to mind how long Stark took to clean him up. Once all traces of bad smells had been washed from the sickly teen and replaced by the gentle aroma of banana (again; sick Peter may have been but he had no trouble demanding whatever he pleased) Stark drained the tub; the whole experience had taken about twenty minutes in total, and Peter didn't seem too traumatised. That was as good a result as any in Stark's book.  
"Alright, can you dress yourself before we stick you back in quarantine, Pete?"

Peter stood, shivering in the tub, as he shook his head. The room was still spinning, though not as bad as before… but Pete didn't quite trust himself to dress without growing dizzy. Understandable enough, and Stark had been expecting nothing less. Peter seemed unfazed by this, too, just as he was unfazed by having Tony wash him. He was silently re-dressed — obediently lifting his arms when Tony said, 'arm' and legs when Tony said, 'leg'. It wasn't long before Peter was toasty warm and fully dressed. 

Tony helped him out of the bathtub and led him out of the room, the two wearing matching grimaces as the hallway was still smelly. "I'll clear that in a second, I just need to get you back to bed is all." he reassured Peter when Peter gave him a guilty look. He looked between Peter's sick bay and the stairs to the upper floors, not sure where to put him. Problem was, he didn't quite forgive himself for letting Peter get into that mess alone.  
No.  
He needed someone to watch over Peter while he was busy cleaning up. "Good news, Spidey. I think we'll move you out of quarantine and upstairs with the others." Tony announced thoughtfully, "That okay with you?"

Peter nodded quietly, with a tiny smile. He liked the others, and he was tired of napping. It would be nice to have some company.

"Good. How's your walking? D'you want some help?" Tony asked. Again, Peter still felt as though he was walking on marshmallows and could stumble at any second. That, combined with the spinning room, was enough to make Peter's mind up. He didn't want to walk by himself and make himself sick again, so he gave Tony a shy, sheepish nod. When Mr. Stark said, 'help' Peter imagined it would be Tony taking one of his arms and helping him keep steady as they made the trek back to the Avengers Tower common room.  
He most certainly didn't imagine for it to be Tony lifting him up under the armpits and holding him to his hip, much like you would a small toddler. His eyes widened, and a blush dusted his cheeks. "Oh!"

"Easier, kiddo," Tony explained sheepishly, although even he was surprised at how light Peter seemed, and how easily he fit against Tony. Course, it was related to his spider DNA, but it still came as much of a surprise. Tony had expected him to be a jumble of arms and legs, much like the rare occasions they hugged.  
Peter nodded, finding that he didn't really mind. He buried himself as close to Tony as he could possibly go and was quiet once more, vaguely aware of where they were in the tower as Tony moved. 

"Look who's come out of quarantine," Tony announced as he entered the common room with Peter in his arms. The rest of the Avengers looked over, offering smiles and murmured ‘get well’ calls as Tony plopped him onto the sofa, with not one comment as to why Peter was in his arms in the first place. 

“Are you feeling well?” Thor, God of Thunder himself, asked sweetly from where he was sat a little across the way on the opposite couch. Peter flushed pink and shook his head, rubbing his eyes. “No,” he mumbled, still burning with shame at the thought of sicking up on Stark’s floor. At this answer, the God gave him a concerned glare and swooped up, looking the teenager over carefully — peering in his ears, in his mouth and, strangely — under his arms.  
“Hm.” He murmured, thoughtful for a moment. “Well, you haven’t lost any limbs. That’s good!” Thor wasn’t well versed in Midgardian ailments and wasn’t entirely sure of the man of spider’s outlook. Which… was a great concern for everybody.  
The team would be considerably worse off without the man of spiders, no one was nearly as agile enough as he. 

“He’ll be fine, Thor,” the man of iron murmured, disappearing up the stairs with an armful of cleaning products, “He just needs some medication.”

Peter blanched at that, grimacing. He didn’t like taking medicine, never had liked taking medicine. He had countless memories of being a sickly child and spitting entire mouthfuls of syrupy linctus over Aunt May. Blechkt. He was glad Mr. Stark didn’t know about that…

…although, looking at what Stark was holding in his hand as he emerged from upstairs, it wouldn’t be too long before he found out.

"You have to take it." Mr. Stark said firmly as he sat in front of Peter, hand outstretched and clutching a spoon. The spoon was filled with a suspicious, thick green liquid that Peter eyed with the utmost disgust. It looked like drain cleaner, if you asked him, but Stark denied that fact completely. "It'll help you get better. Calm your stomach.”

“Healing factor,” Peter countered desperately, eyes large and pleading, but Bruce reasoned that the medicine would relieve his physical symptoms while his body worked on getting rid of the virus. _Spidey DNA could only ever handle so much before his body took over,_ Stark had butted in with a nod of smug agreement that meant Peter was losing, _and his body was exhausted enough._ Peter quickly tried a different tack.  
“If I take it, it'll make me sick again." He announced with a whimper, only sounding slightly dramatic. Even just looking at the gloopy linctus on the spoon made his stomach turn and a gag rise up his throat. He shook his head rapidly, folded his arms, and kept his mouth firmly shut. There was no way Mr. Stark was getting that past his lips unless he wanted him to bring it back up again seconds later. 

"Fine." Sighing, Stark tipped the linctus back into the bottle and screwed the lid back on. Relieved at escaping his medicinal doom, Peter collapsed back with a lazy smile into his sick bed... only for Tony to raise his brows. "What do you think you're doing? Sit up,” his mentor insisted sternly, holding out a palm for Peter to help himself up. Biting back a sigh, the teenager slowly, dizzily, sat up, then looked at Stark in utter confusion.  
Smiling at him — in that awfully smug, 'I've backed you into a corner now' kind of way, Tony pulled out the pill bottle and popped out a red-and-purple caplet, holding it in one hand.  
"If you won't take that, you're taking this!” he said firmly.  
Peter's heart sunk as he warily eyed the capsule. It looked… it looked huge, as if it would clog his throat as he swallowed it. The teenager started to whimper as he shook his head. "N- no, Mr. Stark, please I... I can't take it." he pleaded, tears coating his lashes. Admittedly, they were crocodile tears; crying had got him plenty of comfort and understanding ever since his first night here... although they didn't appear to be working now. 

"No," Stark said firmly, refusing to be swayed by the teenager's glossy eyes. "No - you're taking one of them." He said, staring the teen down; biding his time. He waited until yet another whimper fell from Peter's mouth, until Peter was on the verge of whining again — and with lightningly quick reflexes swooped in and pinched the teenager's nose, forcing Peter to gasp and take whooping breaths through his mouth. Tony aimed the capsule into Peter's gaping mouth, passed the child a beaker of water, and sat back grimly satisfied with himself.  
“Now,” he nodded, seeing Peter grimace at the dissolving pill on his tongue, “no more playing around. Swallow, please. That’s an order, kiddo, I’m afraid.”

("Impressive." Clint murmured from where he, Thor, Bruce and Steve had silently been watching the scene unfold just a short way away. Steve agreed, chipping in with a, 'nice work'.  
Tony didn't break his grim gaze with Peter but gave a quick nod of happy acknowledgement to the four.)

Peter sat there with the capsule in his mouth - just grimacing as he felt the pill dissolving on his tongue, leaking a sharp chemical taste throughout his mouth and up his nose. As much as he tried to swallow, he felt himself begin to gag as soon as the pill was on the verge of sliding down his throat. He tried a second time with a mouthful of water from the beaker Stark had given him, although that had simply resulted in him gagging a second time and bringing up the pill - and the water - over his lap. "I can't take it, I can't," Peter insisted in a small, shaky voice that broke off into a sob at the end.  
Stark sighed as he took in the sight before him, beginning to lose patience. Alright, perhaps kiddo wasn't lying when he'd said he couldn't take the capsule… "Fine, but you have to take the medicine, Peter. I'm not getting you hooked up to an IV in the Medi-Bay any time soon." He pulled the wet blanket away from Peter and began to fold it up so it could dry off.

Peter sobbed a little, just once, and snivelled. "No," he pleaded. 

Stark sighed again, most definitely in an, 'I'm losing my patience with this child today' way, which his teammates recognised.  
He moved away from the child to calm himself, ducking into the kitchenette. As Peter lay on the couch, sniffling, the rest of the team followed to be met by a grim-faced Stark.  
Thor was the brave soul who spoke up first; he 'ahem'ed quietly to get Stark's attention. "Stark, I have an idea…” he whispered. Even just hearing those words - coming from Thor, of all people — made Tony's heart sink a little—but hey, anything was worth a try before he gave up and told Peter to wallow in his sickness by himself. "What?"  
"Well, when my brother was a child, he also suffered from sickness." Thor explained, "Mother and Father also had trouble getting him to take his medication."  
"And?"   
"So, they would give him something very sweet and tasty at the same time to distract him." 

Huh.  
Of course. Tony was surprised he hadn't thought of that already.  
"Like Mary Poppins!" he murmured in realisation, a thin smile spreading over his face. Of course, two out of four colleagues gave him a blank stare.  
Clint nodded eagerly. "A spoonful of sugar..." the archer hummed in agreement, clinching it. 

Tony darted to the kitchen. He returned, not with a spoonful of sugar, but with a chocolate bar. Unwrapping the bar as he headed back toward the sickly boy on the couch, he sat and waved the chocolate slab in Peter's face. "Bite it. Now."

Peter quirked a brow, confused, but gave the chocolate bar a tiny bite. He sucked the small corner of chocolate idly, frowning at Stark. Now what?

Stark was uncapping the medicine bottle. Peter eyed him unsurely, flinching back in case his mentor decided to wave a linctus-filled spoon in his face again. He focused on chewing the small piece of chocolate. It was melting in his mouth though — and he wanted some more — so when Stark held the bar to his face again he took another gracious bite. Only this time, Tony refused to let him settle back and savour the chunk, lightning fast reflexes returning as he thrust the syrupy spoonful into the teenager's awaiting mouth. Even so, Tony braced himself for the teenager to spit it out in disgust... but all Peter could taste was chocolate. So, despite being tricked, Peter swallowed — and kept down — the syrupy-chocolatey mouthful. Tony lay in wait lest the child surprise him and cough it up suddenly, but it remained in Peter's belly, as it was meant to. 

Tony sank back against the sofa. "Was that really so difficult?" he asked, sighing softly. 

Peter shook his head. 

As a calm silence rested in the room, Tony looked at the label on the linctus bottle. "Next dose is in four hours, champ." He murmured. Peter whined the kind of whine that only a child could perfect, the kind that pierced Tony's ears. "More?" 

"Yes, more," Tony said wearily, looking at the nibbled chocolate bar Peter had left on the couch. "JARVIS, put in a same-day bulk order for Cadbury's Dairy Milk, please."

"Running a chocolate factory, Mr. Wonka, sir?" JARVIS inquired dryly. Tony didn't even justify the A.I. with a response, sighing.  
No… he just had a feeling he was going to need a lot more chocolate.

**Author's Note:**

> Please drop me a comment or a kudos if you enjoyed this!!! university is kicking my arse hard but I hope to have some new stuff up soon for you all. Comments n kudos keep me writing and doing what I love. Peter likes them too, don't you darling?
> 
> **cut to Peter cross legged on the floor, nibbling a cookie, looking expectantly at the kudos counter** 
> 
> ;)
> 
> xx


End file.
